


Whumptober 20

by Waywocket



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywocket/pseuds/Waywocket
Summary: A boy wakes up with no name and no memories. But there is something important he does remember. Something he wants to hold onto.
Kudos: 5
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Whumptober 20

Shapes. He should remember shapes and shadows as they leaned over him. The taste of something bitter. But mostly, he remembered a small hand holding onto his own. It was always warm and comforting. Things were scarier when that hand wasn’t there.

Slowly, the boy sat up. Looking around curiously, he was in a dark room full of empty beds. It was eerie and left him feeling lonely. It didn’t feel right, being alone. Scrunching his nose, he tried to remember why he was here. Why he was alone in a room meant for many.

Nothing. Just shapes bitterness and comforting hands. That was all he knew, all he could remember. Not where he was or why he was there. He tried harder to remember. Anything at all. Names, places. He tried to focus on something important.

In the nothingness, all he could remember were those warm and comforting hands that were so much smaller than his own. Hands that held onto him tightly and kept the fear at bay. Those were important, he understood that much.

The more he tried to remember, the more afraid he became. Something was wrong, that much he could understand. He didn’t want to be here.

So very carefully, he got out of bed. It was dark and hard to see, but he would manage. Slow and careful as could be, he tried to feel his way around the room and find the door. 

It wasn't as helpful as he had hoped. He still bumped into things. Things that hurt! He found every bed with his toes and a cabinet of some kind with his shoulder. Something hit him in the face. Some cold, as he fumbled with it before it hit the ground. Rubbing his face, he sniffled and whined. He didn’t like this room at all.

After more searching and more things falling, he managed to find the door. On the other side, just bright enough to see something, there was the biggest chair he’d ever seen. It was covered in pillows and wide enough at least three people could sit on it. Tilting his head, the boy wondered who would need such a big chair.

Curious, he kept walking and bumping around the room. At least most things in here were softer. That was better. Not as painful. Though he did manage to knock things over still as he wandered around.

It wasn’t long that he made his way into the kitchen. At least this room he understood, mostly. He knew stoves and iceboxes, at least.

Looking at the icebox, his stomach rumbled. He didn’t know the last time he ate. Hesitantly, he reached for the door. Just something to ease the feeling bubbling in his stomach.

Just before he reached the handle, he stopped. He didn’t know why, but some part of him knew that what he was doing was wrong. You never got food from the icebox. 

Scrunching his nose again, he thought about why he knew that. It was some kind of memory. If he just focused on it, maybe something about before would come back to him. Someone didn’t want him to get food on his own.

While he was trying to remember, suddenly, the room was filled with light. It was enough to snap him out of his thoughts and quickly looked around, confused. 

In the doorway was an old man holding a long cane in his hand. It was half lowered. He looked frustrated as he watched the boy. His mouth was moving, but the boy could only look at him curiously, gently tilting his head. 

He should understand, he understood that, but as much as he tried, he wasn’t sure what it meant. He just looked up at him, hoping for something he knew.

The man was angry he knew what that face was. It made him shrink back in fear. Angry was bad. Angry could hurt, he knew that.

Eventually, the man stopped moving his mouth and just glared at him. The boy watched him as he tried to figure out what was happening. There had to be something he was missing. He understood the man was angry, but he couldn’t understand why or what to do about it. 

The man opens his mouth again. Still, he didn't understand. That had to be important, but that’s all he could figure out. When nothing changed, the man put his hand to his face, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Instead of trying again, he pointed to the room he had come from. Back where all the empty beds were.

That made more sense. He was in trouble for being out of bed. That he could understand at least. 

He wanted to ask where he was. Why he was there. Wanted to ask who he was and about the warm and comforting hand. But he didn’t know how. So he behaved and went back to bed. Later, he thought. In the morning, there would be answers.

In the morning, he woke up, slowly, to the warmth in his hand again. He held it tighter before slowly blinking awake, eager to see the face that belonged to such a small and comforting hand. He may not remember anything from before, but he remembered that hand was important. As long as he had that hand, everything was going to be okay.


End file.
